


(un)conditional

by ghostfaeries



Series: Trans Bats [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alfred Pennyworth is the Best, And hes getting one!! Multiple even!!, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Autistic Tim Drake, Bad Parent Jack Drake, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Coming Out, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Dick Grayson is Robin, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Good Older Sibling Dick Grayson, Hot Chocolate, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Tim Drake, Misgendering, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Tim Drake is Robin, Tim Drake-centric, Trans Character, Trans Dick Grayson, Trans Male Character, Trans Tim Drake, Transphobia, but its there, but like theres hints, fuck him, hes not tims dad here officially but like hes his dad, its not stated explicitly, no beta we die like my brain after trying to proofread this at 11 at night, oh also Dick has adhd yeet but its only mentioned once so i felt like it didnt deserve a whole tag, projection time!, trans author
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:08:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25380634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostfaeries/pseuds/ghostfaeries
Summary: As a little kid, Tim had always thought his parents would forever love him, no matter what he did, or who he became. They were his parents, of course they would love him. They were connected to each other by blood, they were family, and family was those who loved you. But as he grew up, he quickly realised love was not to be freely given. Love was to be earned. He learned to keep quiet, to obey. He learned to be the perfect daughter. Silent, not speaking until spoken to. He did whatever his parents told him to, and they were satisfied. This was what happiness felt like, Tim decided. This was love.It all came crashing down the day he realised he was not a daughter. He was a son.~Love is unconditional. Until it's not. Tim Drake learned that the hard way.
Relationships: Jack Drake & Tim Drake, No Romantic Relationship(s), Tim Drake & Alfred Pennyworth, Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson
Series: Trans Bats [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1850425
Comments: 21
Kudos: 314





	(un)conditional

**Author's Note:**

> Hello this fic is my baby. I poured my entire soul into this, like h e a v y projecting. Tim is my favourite and I see a lot of myself in him so yeet lets go lads
> 
> Enjoy <3
> 
> Content warnings (slightly spoilery): Tim gets mugged and gets threatened with a knife in the second scene. This was already in the tags, but Tim's dad misgenders and deadnames him, and also calls him a freak. Tim refers to himself as not a real boy once, so watch out for that. Oh Jack also kicks him out. Terrible dad
> 
> DISCLAIMER: please do not interact with this fic in any way if you ship Dick, Jason, Cass, Tim, Damian or Duke with each other as this makes me very uncomfortable as someone with siblings, thank you

As a little kid, Tim had always thought his parents would forever love him, no matter what he did, or who he became. They were his parents, of course they would love him. They were connected to each other by blood, they were family, and family was those who loved you. But as he grew up, he quickly realised love was not to be freely given. Love was to be earned. He learned to keep quiet, to obey. He learned to be the perfect daughter. Silent, not speaking until spoken to. He did whatever his parents told him to, and they were satisfied. This was what happiness felt like, Tim decided. This was love. 

It all came crashing down the day he realised he was not a daughter. He was a son. 

* * *

That day, Tim – although it would be a while until he’d go by that name – was walking home from school alone. He’d had to stay behind after class because his teacher wanted to talk to him. He’d already forgotten what about, too eager to get to the school parking lot to see if his parents were there. They’d promised to pick him up this morning, but when he walked up to the neat rows of cars lined up in front of the school gates, there was no familiar grey Bentley waiting for him. That’s when he knew they weren’t coming for him. Jack and Janet Drake were never late, insisted on being punctual. If they wanted to be there, they would be on time. 

This just meant they’d forgotten about him. 

That was fine. He’d be a good daughter and wouldn’t complain. They were busy, they didn’t need a clingy child hanging on to them while they were trying to do important things. 

There was no bus to bring him home. It was long gone, left during the time his teacher talked with him. The school bus didn’t go all the way to his house anyway. Usually he walked the last few miles to Drake Manor from the bus stop closest to it. 

Without the initial bus ride, it would be a much longer hike home. Tim didn’t mind. Much. He was more bothered by his parents forgetting about him again, on his birthday of all days. At least it wasn’t raining. 

Tim had hoisted his backpack on his shoulder and prepared himself for a long walk. He put in his earbuds and opened Spotify, choosing his usual playlist. The familiar notes of _Fool_ rung out, and Tim found himself grimacing at the lyrics. They hit a little too close to home. 

_I am just a fool to keep on chasing after nothing great_   
_You are just a fool to keep pretending that you're loving me_

He skipped the song. 

The music in his ears is what drowned out the sounds of footsteps behind him, and he didn’t notice the man until his gloved hand covered his mouth, cutting off Tim’s startled yelp, and he saw the glint of a knife where it was held to his throat. 

“Your money or your life!” 

The low growl of the voice cut through the music as his assailant ripped out his earbuds, his phone clattering to the cobbles. 

Tim was frozen in place. He was trapped between the knife cutting into his skin and the solid form of the man behind him. 

“Well? Get on with it!” The man barked out. “I know you’re one of those rich brats, I recognize that uniform. Now give me your money, or else.” 

Some people would tell you Tim was an intelligent person. He thought otherwise. Intelligent people usually didn’t bite someone who was holding a knife to their throat. 

The man yelped when Tim’s teeth pierced his skin and quickly retracted his hand from over Tim’s mouth, stumbling a few steps away. Tim used this opportunity to make a run for it, clutching the straps of his backpack tightly. He didn’t come far. The man recovered quickly and went after him, quickly catching up to Tim and his short legs. He threw a punch, hitting Tim in the head and throwing him to the ground. 

“You little brat! You’ll pay for that!” 

The man raised his hand, knife glinting ominously, ready to bring it down onto Tim, when the light reflected onto a flying projectile that came hurtling towards them, knocking the knife out of the man’s hand. Seconds later, a red-yellow-green blur descended onto the man. The blur solidified into a person, his grin gleaming brighter than the blade. He swiftly evaded the man’s clumsy attempt of a punch and threw a punch himself. The man crumpled. 

Robin must have hit a pressure point, Tim remembered reading about those once. 

Robin bent down and picked up the object he’d thrown at Tim’s attacker earlier. He seemed to spot something on the ground a few meters away and jogged over, picking that up as well. When he stood in front of Tim again, he was holding a batarang and Tim’s phone, the music that was still playing barely audible through the earbuds dangling from it. 

“Are you okay?” He asked, handing Tim his phone. 

“Why are you here?” Was the first thing that came out of Tim’s mouth, like a dumbass. Robin had just saved his life and this is what he said? He needed to fix this, and quick. “Shoot, no, that’s not what I meant. I thought you only went out at night?” Tim winced at his words. Not much better. 

Luckily for him, Robin just grinned good-naturedly and told him, “Was in the mood to feel the sun today. God knows Gotham doesn’t get that often.” 

Tim never was one for smiling, but Robin’s demeanour gave him the urge to do so anyway. Something about him was comforting, like a soothing voice calming you down during a nightmare, or a warm hug and a kiss on the knee after falling and scraping it. Tim couldn’t remember the last time he’d experienced that, if ever at all. 

“Thank you.” He tried to put all his gratitude into those two words, the gratitude he would never be able to properly verbalise. He hoped the message was received anyway. 

“No problem, kid. It’s what I do. So, what were you doing out here on your own? Gotham’s no place for a little boy to be out and about alone.” 

Tim shrugged. “I was walking home from school.” 

He couldn’t see Robin’s eyes behind the misty lenses of his domino, but he could guess what his confused expression looked like. 

“Alone? No offense, kid, but you don’t look older than seven. You shouldn’t walk home on your own.” 

Tim puffed out his chest. “I’m eight!” He paused for a second, thinking. “Or nine, I guess, since today.” 

“It’s your birthday?” 

Tim nodded. 

Robin smiled brightly at him. “Well, happy birthday then.” 

Tim was stunned into silence for a moment. “Oh. Thanks.” 

Robin cocked his head to the side. “Why are you surprised? I can’t be the first person to have told you today.” 

Tim stayed silent, but it was enough of an answer for Robin. “Oh. I am.” Robin’s face scrunched up in a frown. “What about your parents? Where are they?” 

Tim shrugged. “On a plane, probably.” 

Why was he making such a big deal out of this? It wasn’t the first time his parents were away on his birthday, and it wouldn’t be the last, he was sure. 

Robin brought his hand to his ear. “Hey, B? Care to come pick me up?” He shot a glance at Tim beside him. “I’ve got a baby bird with me. We’re at the corner of- yeah, there. Okay, see you in five.” He looked down at Tim with a grin. 

“What do you say to a ride in the Batmobile?” 

* * *

The Batmobile was _amazing_. There were so many different panels and buttons, to do all kinds of cool stuff, Tim knew. He kept his hands off - children shouldn’t touch things with their dirty hands, Janet’s voice helpfully supplied – but that didn’t stop him from asking a hundred questions a minute. Batman patiently answered all of them, Robin speaking up from time to time to add quips. 

“What’s this do?” 

(Batman had gently explained the function of the large red button with the word _eject_ on it. Tim had kept his hands tightly clasped in his lap, knowing he’d flap them if he didn’t. He didn’t want Batman and Robin to think he was a weirdo, and he shouldn’t disrupt them like that. His parents had taught him that was inappropriate from a young age. He’d behave.) 

“What does the Batmobile ride on? Electricity? Diesel? Gasoline?” 

(Electricity.) 

“Can it fly? Is there a button for wings?” 

(There was not, but Batman did have a Batjet and a Batcopter.) 

“Did you design this yourself, mister Batman sir?” 

(Robin had snorted at that.) 

The Batmobile pulled up to the Drake house after a short ride. Tim was almost disappointed at its briefness, but he was mostly still marvelling at the fact that he’d been in the Batmobile with _Batman and Robin_ at all. 

Tim made to get out of the car, when he felt a warm, heavy hand on his shoulder. He looked back to see Batman’s eyes trained on him. A hint of a smile was hovering around his mouth. 

“Happy birthday.” 

“Th-thanks, Batman,” Tim croaked out, and ducked out of the car. 

Robin followed him, feet light as a cat’s paws padding on carpet. Tim turned to him. 

“Um,” He said eloquently. “Thank you. For saving me. Again. And for the ride, I guess.” Then, softly, shyly, “You’re my hero.” 

Robin gave him his signature smile and tugged him into a hug, eliciting a surprised yelp from Tim. After a moment, Tim relaxed into the embrace. When was the last time he’d been hugged? 

Robin slipped something into Tim’s jacket and pulled away, smiling down at Tim. “Take care, kid.” 

With those parting words, Robin got into the Batmobile and it zipped off with a roar of the engine, and it was like they’d never been here at all. 

Tim took out the object Robin had put in his pocket. The metal was cold to the touch, but the memories associated with it were warm. He looked down at the batarang and smiled. 

Today had been a good birthday after all. 

* * *

That night in the dark of his room, Tim was sorting through the happenings of the day, like usual, when he realised something. Robin had called him a little boy, early on in their conversation. Robin thought he was a boy. 

A boy. Not a girl. A boy. 

He liked that. He _really_ liked that. 

Tim nestled deeper into the covers, clutching the gifted batarang. Mind still reeling from his realisation, he fell asleep. Midnight passed and the day was over. 

That day, Robin had touched his soul. In the dark of his room, Tim was lit up from the inside, a tiny spark of light stemming from the brightness of Robin’s smile, from the warmth of Robin’s hug. 

That day, Tim Drake went from eight to nine, and from a daughter to a son. 

* * *

He didn’t tell his parents, of course. 

He knew they wouldn’t like it. Janet would tell him she was disappointed in him. This wasn’t part of the image the Drakes liked to uphold. It wasn’t a good look for the Drakes to have a queer kid. _This is not how a Drake acts. Behave yourself._ Jack would be angry, maybe. Probably. He’d shake his head and tell him he was making it up for attention. _Why are you doing this, you know we’re busy, we can’t be home, we’re doing important work. Don’t be selfish._

He started going behind his parents’ back. It wasn’t that hard to avoid them, really. His parents were away most of the time anyway. 

To their face, he still acted as their daughter. But that’s all it was. An act. When their gaze was averted and their backs turned, he was no daughter. When he was alone, Timothy Jackson Drake was a son. 

Tim grew to enjoy being alone. When he was younger, he’d craved his parents time and attention. He didn’t understand why they were away all the time. Didn’t they want to be with him? He used to curl up on their bed whenever he woke up in the middle of the night, trying desperately to catch a whiff of his mother’s perfume, his dad’s cologne lingering in the sheets, but the only thing he could smell was the impersonal, chemical scent of laundry detergent. 

But now, when he was alone was the only time he could breathe freely, didn’t have to pretend to be someone he was not. When he was alone, he could be his true self. 

When he became Robin, nothing much changed. What was one more lie, one more secret? 

He hadn’t thought it would all come falling down this soon. 

* * *

It was his own fault, really. He should’ve been more careful with his words. But he’d slipped up. 

He really hadn’t meant to say it. 

This morning, Tim had gotten so fed up with his waist length hair, he took the pair of scissors from the kitchen drawers and hacked away at it. It fell to just above his shoulders now. It was messy and choppy and his bangs were uneven. Tim loved it. He finally felt some relief from the ever constant discomfort lurking in the back of his mind. 

Jack hadn’t been around all day, had only just come home for dinner. He hadn’t told Tim where he was before leaving. Tim didn’t really care. Jack never did. Tim made dinner like usual, and had just finished setting the table when Jack entered the kitchen. 

“What have you done to your hair?” 

Tim froze. He hadn’t thought Jack would care. He didn’t usually care about anything Tim did, as long as he didn’t sully the Drake name. He hadn’t thought it would be a big deal. It was just hair. 

Boy, was he wrong. 

Jack did care, apparently. Tim got the urge to laugh bitterly. He’d wanted his dad to see him for so long, but when he actually did, it was for all the wrong reasons. 

He didn’t laugh, instead, tried to stumble out an answer. “I- I cut it. I didn’t like how it was before, so I-” 

“Did I give you permission to do so?” Jack’s voice was icy. 

“Well, no, but-” 

Jack slammed his hand on the table, making Tim flinch. “There’s no but! You know you need to ask for permission to change your image!” 

“It’s _my_ hair!” 

“And it’s my and your mother’s image to uphold!” 

They had kept going. Jack had been shouting and so had Tim. Eventually it had reached a boiling point and Tim had slipped up. 

"You're my daughter which means you do as I say!" Jack yelled. 

"Well, what if I'm not your daughter?!" Tim shouted back. 

Jack froze. Tim's mind caught up to his mouth and he slapped his hands over it in an attempt to keep the words in, from reaching his dad’s ears, but it was too late. The damage had been done. The confession was out in the open. 

Tim wanted to grab the words hanging in the air between them and stuff them back in his mouth until he choked on them. 

"What do you mean by that?" Jack asked, eyes narrowing in suspicion. 

Shit. 

"I'm-" Tim began, and stopped again. He knew he couldn’t backtrack, couldn’t pretend anymore. The words had been said and he could not take them back. He took a deep breath. "I'm not your daughter. I'm your son. I'm a boy." 

Jack's eyes hardened, grey like the unforgiving glinting of a stainless steel knife, sharp and cold, and his next words cut the same way. 

"Get. Out." He gritted through his teeth. He grabbed Tim's arm, yanking him through the hallway. His grip around Tim's biceps hurt, but not as much as his words. "Get out of my house. You can come back when you let go of this nonsense. _Freaks_ are no family of mine." 

And he spit Tim's deadname at him, a last punch to the gut as he slammed the door in his face. Tim could hear the keys turn in the lock, knew that if he tried to get back in via the window, he'd just get thrown out again. So he started walking. He started walking, socked feet ploughing through the snow, the cold seeping into his feet, chilling him to the bone. He shivered and wrapped his arms around his torso. He wished he'd had a coat, but returning to the house was not an option. 

He didn’t think about where he was going until he was standing in front of a familiar door. His feet had automatically brought him to Wayne Manor. He raised his arm to ring the bell, but hesitated. What if Bruce would turn him away? He was only his partner in crime fighting, nothing else. Maybe he should just turn around and leave now. He didn’t want to be a bother to the only people who called him by the correct name, the correct pronouns. He wished his dad were more like Bruce, or Dick, or Alfred. Coming out to them had been difficult, yes, but it had been so rewarding in the end. 

He hadn’t told any of them, Bruce, Dick, Alfred, he was trans at first. When he became Robin, he’d just introduced himself as Tim. The Drakes were away often enough that they didn’t attend social functions anymore, so few people knew they had a child. He was also lucky enough to be a late bloomer and hadn’t developed much breast tissue yet, and what he had was easy to hide with sport bras, so they hadn’t thought any of it, and Tim was content to keep it that way. 

But then he’d gotten stabbed in the ribs. It wasn’t that big of a deal, to be honest, just a scrape, Bruce just tended to overreact whenever he got injured. Tim had insisted he was fine, he could dress it himself at home, no need to take his shirt off. 

Bruce didn’t have any of it. 

“Tim,” He’d said, his voice gentle but firm. “Why don’t you want me to see you shirtless?” 

Tim froze. He thought he’d been subtle about it. Guess not. He _was_ talking to Batman, after all. 

He had stayed silent for a long time. Bruce had let him, waited patiently until he found his words. Blood was slowly seeping through his uniform, painting the cloth a darker red than usual. 

"Bruce?" He mumbled finally, trying to keep his voice carefully reserved. Fear crept through anyway, and he looked away. 

"Hm?" Bruce didn’t sound mad, or impatient. Yet. Who knew when that would change? Tim had learned early on that making adults wait was not a good idea. 

"What if- What if I told you I’ve been lying to you?" 

His head was screaming at him to stop talking, he was making a mistake, he was throwing away all he had worked for. He didn’t want to lose Robin, the one shining star in the darkness forever clinging to him, he couldn’t, but he had to tell him. He couldn’t hide the truth any longer. If Bruce was going to find out, he wanted it to be on his own terms, with his own words, no matter how frightening it was to say them out loud. If only he could find them. He’d never had anyone care about him, _the_ _real_ _him_ , enough to even bother contemplating coming out to, so this was a first. 

“Tim, what do you mean?” 

The gentleness was still present in Bruce’s voice, something Tim hadn’t been expecting. He’d thought Bruce would get angry immediately upon hearing his words, but his voice was soft and careful and _gentle_. Maybe, Tim thought. Maybe it would be okay if he told Bruce. Maybe. Bruce wasn’t like his parents; he’d been there when Tim called for him. Maybe he’d be there for him with this too. 

“I’m... I wasn’t born a boy. I was born a girl.” Tim let out a breath as he said the dreaded words. The air left his body the same way as his words, shuddering and uncertain, but steadfast nonetheless. He was speaking his truth and he would stand by it, even if it was a death sentence for Robin. 

“Hm.” Tim waited for Bruce to continue, but he stayed silent for a long time, the air between them simmering with tension, nerves sparking from Tim like flickers of electricity from a torn wire. Energy was buzzing through his veins, setting him alight with nerves. 

It seemed Bruce wasn’t going to say anything else. So Tim continued. He tried to level his voice, the way he’d trained to, as Robin. 

Robin. 

What if... Tim shook his head to banish the thought. No. Bruce wouldn’t. Bruce wouldn’t take Robin away from him. 

... 

Would he? 

Tim was terrified to find he wasn’t sure. 

“I... I understand if I can’t be Robin anymore, now that you know I’m not a real boy.” Bruce’s head snapped up, then, as if he was surprised. The only time Tim could remember seeing him surprised is when Tim had shown up on his doorstep all those months ago, demanding to be Robin. Tim winced at the memory. He hadn’t thought it’d be this short lived back then. But he would take it in stride. He would step down from Robin gracefully. He would not- He would not cry. But he would mourn. He’d mourn the only time he could be himself, no pretending, no hiding, no secrets. 

Well. He supposed he _had_ been keeping secrets. 

“Tim, sweetheart, no, of course not. I’m not taking Robin away from you, not because of this. Never because of this.” 

A weight Tim hadn’t realised he carried fell off his shoulders then. 

Bruce continued. “I’m sorry it took me so long to say something. I wasn’t expecting this, so I was gathering my thoughts, trying to figure out what to say, but I apologise for making you think I wasn’t okay with this. I am. I always will. You’re saying you’re trans, correct?” 

Tim nodded wordlessly. 

“That’s completely fine, Tim. You’re not the first trans person I’ve met, and certainly not the last one. I won’t see you any differently because of this. And you are a real boy. You’re just as much male as I am.” Bruce gripped him by the shoulders, tightly, as if he needed his next words to really get through to him. “Don’t you ever think you’re not a real boy. You are. You’re so real, Tim. No one can take this away from you. This is who you are, and your gender is yours to determine. No one else.” 

Tim sniffled. He hadn’t been expecting this. He surged forward, surprising both Bruce and himself when he threw his thin arms around Bruce’s neck, burying his face in the man’s chest. 

“Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you.” He muttered the words, almost like a mantra. 

Bruce just hugged him back and cupped the back of his head with a gentle hand, carding his fingers through Tim’s hair. 

“Always, Tim. Always.” 

* * *

Coming out to Dick had been easier. Tim had survived a first time, with Bruce of all people, so he wasn’t that scared of Dick’s reaction. He knew Bruce had his back, and Dick had always been more laidback than him, so Tim was sure it would be fine. 

At least, that’s what he tried to convince himself of. 

Dick was staying over at the manor for the weekend after not having been able to be there for a while due to a large case back in Blüdhaven, so Tim decided to use this opportunity to tell him. 

The two of them were doing their individual training down in the cave. Well, Dick was training, while Tim had been standing in front of a training dummy for ten minutes, staring blankly at the empty faced dummy, bo staff clutched tight. Training dummies didn’t have an assigned gender at birth. Training dummies didn’t have to come out. Tim wished he was a training dummy. 

“You okay, Timmy?” 

Dick’s voice snapped him out of his head. If Tim had been anyone else, he’d have startled and maybe jumped at the sudden intrusion. Instead, he just turned around and shot Dick a faux smile. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” 

Dick got out of his handstand fluidly, feet balancing his weight with the same ease as his hands had moments earlier. He walked over to where Tim was still staring at the training dummy. 

“Are you sure? Normally you’re not this out of it during training.” Dick placed his hand on Tim’s forehead. “Are you sick?” 

Curse Dick and his incredible perception. 

“I’m fine. I just... need to tell you something.” 

Dick raised a brow but didn’t question him, just plopped down on the mat criss-cross applesauce and gestured for Tim to do the same. Tim complied, looking down at his hands in his lap. He was just in casual training clothes, so he wasn’t wearing his gauntlets. His nails were chipped and there was a faint bruise forming on his knuckles from last night. 

Tim looked up. He figured he should probably look Dick in the eye when he told him this. It was only polite. His mother had always told him to look people in the eye when you spoke to them, even if it hurt him to do so. 

“Um. Dick. So.” The words came out stilted and wrong. 

Dick didn’t comment, just smiled encouragingly, gesturing for him to go on, he could tell him. 

“I understand if you’ll look at me differently, or if you won’t like me anymore, that’s fine, just please tell me nicely? Like, I know we’re just co-workers, but I really admire you and if you hated me, I’d-” 

“Tim. Slow down.” Dick’s smile had disappeared. Tim cursed himself for causing that. He shouldn’t be upsetting Dick, not when he was about to come out to him. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Dick should always be smiling, because if Dick Grayson wasn’t happy, how could anyone? 

“Tim. Buddy. Are you there?” 

There was a hand on his knee. 

What? Oh, right, Dick. He’d been talking to Dick. 

“Sorry.” Tim could feel the tips of his ears turn warm. God, he was a dumbass. First he made Dick’s smile disappear, then he left him hanging for who knows how long. 

“It’s okay. You’re not the only one in this family to dissociate from time to time.” 

Dick didn’t look mad. He looked...worried? Tim was a bit confused about that. Why wouldn’t he be mad at Tim for zoning out on him? Tim had been yelled at for that enough times to know that wasn’t appropriate. 

“What’s dissociating?” 

Crap, what did he just do? Now he was making Dick explain something, he didn’t need to stall any further! 

Dick didn’t seem bothered by his question though. Actually, he seemed rather eager to explain. 

“Oh, dissociating is like... Hm how do I put this?” Dick tapped his chin contemplatively. “Do you ever feel floaty? Or like you’re not entirely connected to your body, or the real world?” 

Tim nodded. 

“That’s dissociation. It often happens to those with trauma.” 

“I don’t have trauma,” Tim immediately said. 

Dick frowned, but didn’t push. “Sure, Tim. It’s also a thing that happens to autistics, often during shutdowns. I’m not autistic, but I do have ADHD, which has a lot of similarities.” 

Hm. Tim would have to look into that. 

“But you were about to tell me something?” 

Oh, right. He was. 

“Y-yeah. Like I said, just- please be nice about it.” 

Dick’s eyes were so gentle and encouraging, Tim couldn’t stand to look at them. He looked to the floor instead. There were some scuff marks on the training mats. He’d have to tell Bruce they needed replacing soon. 

When he came out to Bruce, he had been slow, and hesitant. He’d been like that this time too, but Tim decided not anymore. It was better to rip the band aid off immediately. He’d rather know Dick’s reaction quickly than be in limbo. 

“I’m trans.” 

Dick seemed stunned for a moment. Then, “Oh.” Dick’s smile returned in full force. “Me too.” 

_What_ , Tim thought. 

“What?” Tim said. 

Dick stood up and tugged the Flash shirt he used for casual training over his head. He spread his arms like he’d just finished a gymnastics routine. 

“Tada!” 

Tim cocked his head in confusion. What was he supposed to be looking at? 

Dick’s upper body was covered in a maze of raised skin, messy scars from his time as Robin and then as Nightwing. There was a large bruise crawling up his ribs from last night’s patrol. He really didn’t get what Dick was trying to show him. 

Then something jumped out to him. There were two scars, just under his pecs, that looked different. Whereas his other scars were jagged and random, these two were precise and deliberate. 

Dick apparently noticed him looking, because he said, “Neat, huh? Got them from my top surgery.” 

Top surgery, top surgery... Oh! Tim knew what that was! 

He looked up at Dick’s face again. The smile was still there. 

“Top surgery, as in breast removal?” And when Dick nodded, “So you mean... you, too? You’re like me?” 

Tim had thought Dick’s grin was bright before, but now it had become blinding. “Sure are. I had the surgery a few yea- shit, are you okay?” 

What had Tim done now? 

“Huh? Why?” 

Dick crouched down in front of him and wiped below Tim’s eye with his thumb. When he pulled away, his finger was slightly damp. “You’re crying, bud. What’s wrong?” 

He was? 

Tim touched his cheek, and yep, it was wet. 

“Oh. Sorry.” 

Dick let out a weird hybrid of a snort and a noise of confusion. “What are you apologising for? You don’t have to say sorry for _crying_. Although I would like to know why.” 

Tim struggled to find his words. He could feel them buzzing just below the surface of his skin, aching to come out, like a hail storm wanting to rain own on the world, piercing through the sky, but they were stuck in his throat, words too large, too sharp, too _much_ to get out, but also to swallow down again. He wanted to throw them to Dick, he wanted him to _understand_ , he wanted to throw _himself_ at Dick, and he wanted Dick to catch him. 

“I- I think. You’re my hero, you know?” With that, the clouds broke, and it rained down, a smattering of words. “I realised I was trans because of you. You probably don’t even remember, but we met four years ago, you saved me. From a mugger, but probably also myself, now that I think about it. You called me a boy and it felt so _right_. And now I discover that you’re like me, you, Nightwing, the first Robin, Dick Grayson. My hero is like me. I think I’m just... happy. Yeah, I think this is what happiness feels like.” 

Once he found them, the words came tumbling out like he’d been bursting to say them for years, and maybe he had, subconsciously, somewhere in the back of his mind. 

Dick dropped to his knees then, and pulled him into a hug, just like he’d done so many years ago. It was just like he remembered. Tim had gotten hugs from him in between these two, of course, Dick was an incredibly tactile person, but they were different. They were good hugs, yes, but these two hugs, they _meant_ something. These two hugs signalled a new beginning for him. 

“Hey, Tim?” Dick spoke up a few minutes later. His words were slightly muffled, his face being pressed into Tim’s hair. “About that thing you said. About us being co-workers. You know we’re more than that, right? You mean more to me than just someone I work with. You’re my brother, Tim. You’re family.” 

And Tim just nodded and held on tighter, drops of happiness raining down. 

* * *

Coming out to Alfred was the easiest, actually. Tim had just gone up to him one day, fingers curling up in the material of his hoodie, and said it. 

“Alfred. I’m trans.” 

Alfred had just smiled and stroked his hair. “Thank you for telling me, my boy. Now, are you going to help me consume these cookies or not?” 

The icing had been striped blue-pink-white. Alfred had to be telepathic, Tim was sure of it. 

* * *

Yeah. If only his dad were like them. 

Bruce opened the door, took one look at his shivering form and blue lips, and swept him up in his arms, carrying him inside. He kicked the front door shut, effectively cutting off the cold wind attempting to creep into the crevices of the house. There was still ice in his bones, but Bruce’s warm arms around him had already begun to melt that away. 

Bruce made his way to the nearest living room, calling out for Alfred as he gently set Tim down on a couch with the softest cushions Tim had ever felt. 

Alfred entered the room, taking in the current situation. “Oh dear. I’ll be right back with some hot chocolate, you get him out of those soaked clothes, master Bruce.” And he left the way he came. 

Bruce peeled Tim’s drenched socks off his feet, pausing to ask for permission to take off Tim’s equally wet shirt and pants with his gaze. Tim gave a stiff nod, allowing him to go on. When Tim was down to his underwear, Bruce grabbed one of the blankets draped over the back of the couch and bundled Tim up into it like a burrito. 

“Tim,” Bruce said, his voice full of concern, of care. Tim hadn’t been spoken to like that in a long time. “What’s wrong?” 

Tim burst into tears. 

"I came out to dad today. He said- he said-" Tim's voice and hands were shaking. "He called me a freak." Bruce froze. "And I think he might be right." His words were almost imperceptible now, voice lowered to a whisper. “Am I a freak, Bruce?” 

Tim had to know for sure. He trusted Bruce’s judgment. Bruce was Batman, and Batman was always right. 

"Oh, Timmy," Bruce said softly, gently. "Of course not. You're not a freak. You're natural, normal, _human._ Nothing about you is freakish. Come here.” 

Bruce opened his arms invitingly and Tim scooted over, letting himself fall against him. His arms were still trapped in the blanket, so Bruce helped him sit comfortably, adjusting him to have Tim sit on his lap. He embraced the boy, pulling him against his chest. He carded his fingers through his hair, making soothing sounds as he comforted him. 

Tim cried and cried and cried and cried. Bruce let him. 

“It’s okay, let it all out.” 

And Tim did. He cried until there were no tears left to cry and his sobs had been reduced to wet hiccups. Bruce sat with him all the way through, not saying anything beyond those first few words, just rubbed his back and sat with him. 

When Tim finally quieted down, Bruce spoke again. 

“Tim,” His voice was warm and it was his Bruce voice, not Batman, not Brucie Wayne, the _real_ Bruce. The man who’d taught Tim how to defend himself from attackers larger than him, the man who’d ruffled his hair when he’d solved a difficult case, the man who'd carried him to bed when he’d fallen asleep in the cave. The man who _cared_. 

“I want you to know that you always have a place here with us. I’m not making you go back there. You deserve better than that. What your father said was unacceptable, and above all, it was untrue. You’re not a freak. You’re exactly as you should be. Your father may not get that, that’s his loss. You’re an incredible boy, and every day I’m overjoyed you came into my life. I, and Alfred, and Dick, we care about you. We love you. You’re part of our family.” 

If Tim had any tears left, they’d be streaming over his face now. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had told him they loved him. He wasn’t sure if his parents had ever said it in the first place. 

Alfred re-entered the room, a concerned looking Dick on his heels. He was carrying a tray with four steaming mugs. Dick was holding a bunch more blankets, and didn’t hesitate to pile them all on top of Tim. 

Tim laughed, a slightly broken, wet sound. “Dick, how am I supposed to drink my cocoa like this?” 

Dick smiled, fragile but steady. “I'm sure you’ll find a way, Babybird. You’re a smart one.” 

“Indeed, you are,” Alfred supplied, handing over Tim’s mug, a black one with the red Superboy S on it. Tim wiggled his hands out from the mountain of blankets to accept it. He took a sip, the hot drink winding a river of warmth through his body, driving away the ice in his stomach. 

Dick settled down next to him, throwing an arm around Tim’s shoulders and giving him a quick kiss on the crown of his head before taking a sip of his own hot chocolate. Alfred set Bruce’s mug down on a sidetable, smoothed down Tim’s hair with a gentle hand and sat down on the chair opposite their couch. Bruce gave Tim a light squeeze, his arms still wound around his torso, a warm shield from the cold world outside. 

That’s when Tim realised. True, real love was not conditional. It was freely given, no questions asked, no rules, no hoops to jump through to get even a grain of affection. Love was not to be earned. It was to be received and to be given. Unconditional. 

And he sat there with Bruce, with Dick, with Alfred, and he knew, this was his family. They were not connected by blood, but by something much stronger. They were bound to each other by their souls, a deep connection free of societal expectation. _This_ was what happiness felt like, Tim knew. This was love. 

**Author's Note:**

> Please tell me what you thought, I hope you enjoyed it. Like I said, this fic is my baby, I worked on it for weeks and I'm so happy I can finally post it!!
> 
> DC blog: autistic-damian-wayne


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